


Blessed are the Persecuted

by Ikuna



Series: Of Wolves and Bucks [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Fuck Micah, Happy Ending, M/M, MAJOR spoilers for chapter 3, Slight continuation of Picking up the Pieces, can be read independently, john is very much in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 22:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16627892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikuna/pseuds/Ikuna
Summary: In which Arthur doesn't return home one night after a risky mission, and for once, John is the one saving him.





	Blessed are the Persecuted

John wasn’t there when Micah came to Dutch with his, so called, ‘amazing plan’ and ‘a real chance at peace’, he wasn’t there when they had Arthur join them, he was the best shooter they had- honestly, John would say he was the best shooter in the Southwest, but he’d be reluctant to admit those thoughts to Arthur himself. 

John arrived at camp to the news that Micah had set up a peace meeting, a parlay, with the O'Driscolls. Charles was the one who told him, the man looked as doubtful as John had felt. 

John couldn’t help but feel more than a little resentful, just over 6 months ago it was Dutch, Arthur and John out doing the big jobs- not Micah fucking Bell, with his big idea nonsense that, for some reason, Dutch just ate up. 

There wasn’t much for him to do now, though. They’d been gone for hours, so the most he could do was sulk until they came back.

Finally, in the distance, John heard the pounding of horse hooves against dirt. He perked up, as did a few other camp members. It was dark now, the sun had long since gone down.

A bright white horse fades into view from the darkness of the forest- Dutch. 

Behind him, John see’s Micah pull into view. 

His brow furrows, something didn’t feel right. 

He got up from his spot around the campfire, heading over to greet Dutch. 

“How’d it go?” 

Dutch was pulling himself off his saddle, his feet landing on the ground heavily. Turning to look at John, he looked hesitant for the slightest moment, though it was just a moment. It turned to his usual bravado quickly, “as well as one could expect, with them trashy O'driscolls!”

“Where’s Arthur?” John asks, insistent.

Dutch looks around for a moment, looking for Arthur. “Well- if he isn’t back he must be taking the long way. Don’t you worry, son, you know how Arthur is- always makes sure we’re never followed back to camp.” Dutch claps a hand down on John shoulder, giving him a little shake. 

John nods, it makes sense. John couldn’t count the number of times Arthur ‘reminded’ them all to split up after a job. He’d be back soon. “Alright.”

Dutch gives him a nod, before facing the rest of the group, “now, we’ve seem to come to some sort of agreement- we stay away from them, and they’ll stay away from us.” 

“So it wasn’t a trap?” Karen asks, leaning into Sean. 

“Nah, just a few gentleman having a conversation.” Dutch replies. The camp breaks out into murmurs, some still doubtful, others happy to finally have this one weight of their shoulders. “Now, I know what you must be thinking; ‘if that one wasn’t a trap, surely this is!’ And I applaud that line of thought. We wouldn’t be alive right now, if it wasn’t for cautious thinking. So stay on your toes, people. Be vigilant.”

Dutch walks closer to Micah, clapping a hand down on the back of his neck. “For now, let’s thank Mr. Bell- without him, and Mr. Pearson, we wouldn’t have even the slightest chance at peace.”

John wants nothing more than to punch the smug, slimey smile that crawls over Micah’s face, thankfully he’s not alone. The only clapping coming from Bill, and an awkward ‘oh, aren’t we supposed to…?’ from Kieran. 

“Have a good night, folks.”

At that they disperse, John hangs back for a moment, looking at the forest clearing for any sign of Arthur. It was silent. 

“Hey Marston-“ John looks over, Javier is grinning with a bottle of beer in one hand, his guitar in the other. “Come have a drink.” He tosses the bottle at John, who catches it easily. John gives one last look at the clearing before joining some of the guys and ladies around the campfire.

—

It’s morning. The sun was bright in the campsite, John was always glad his tent was completely covered, didn’t know how Arthur did it with his open lean-to. 

The air was hot and muggy already, much to John’s dismay. He hated the South, the stickiness, how god damn ignorant and stupid most of the people he ran into were. Hated all of it.

He groaned, rolling out of his cot. He threw on his clothes, grabbing his hat as he exited the tent. He needed coffee. 

Mary-Beth was already there, pouring herself a cup. She seemed chipper, as usual. “Morning, Mr. Marston. Care for a cup?” 

John smiled back, a bit awkwardly. Grabbing his cup he held it out for her, “that sounds great. Thank you Mary-Beth.” She nodded with that sweet smile, pouring his coffee. John looked around as he sipped the terribly bitter liquid, most were up by now, though he could see a few unsurprising stragglers like Uncle and Karen were still soundly asleep. 

John looked over at Arthur’s lean-to- empty. Already up? Not a shocker, Arthur was surprisingly an early riser. He once told John it was ‘cause he wanted to avoid as many people as he could, for as long as possible.’ That got a laugh outta him, that’s for sure. A very Arthur reason. 

But. 

This time felt… it felt different. John was positive he didn’t come into camp last night, at least not before John called it a night- which was pretty damn late. 

“Hey, Mary-Beth?” John asks, catching the young girl’s attention. 

“Hm?” 

“You haven’t seen Arthur today, have you?” 

Mary-Beth shakes her head, “Uh-uh, ‘fraid not.” At that, John looks over to the horses grazing area. No sign of Arthur’s jet black horse either. John purses his lips, he really shouldn’t be worried. Arthur was a grown man who could handle himself, but… 

There’s laughing on the other side of camp, by the fire. Micah’s there, along with Dutch and Bill. They’re laughing, trading insults almost always at Bill’s expense. John looks at Dutch- Dutch, who is as a father to Arthur. He’s nonchalantly standing with a foot on a log, leaning over his raised leg. 

Dutch didn’t look concerned. If something happened to Arthur, Dutch would be the first one to go back for him.

Right?

A hand, feather light, touches his arm, snapping him away from the other side of camp. “Huh?”

“I was just sayin’, you think he’s alright?” Mary-Beth asks, worrying the bottom of her lip. 

John nods with a slight smile, patting her hand. “Yeah- you know how big and tough Morgan is! That guy regularly takes down small armies with nothin’ but a pistol. He’ll be back before we know it.” He glances back out into the dark forest. “He will.” He says, mostly to himself. Mary-Beth smiles genuinely at him before excusing herself with a ‘thank you’ and ‘see you around’.

—

The next morning comes quick, John would be a little ashamed to admit just how fast he woke up and stuck his head out, looking in a certain tents direction- his heart drops again. 

Empty.

John quickly grabs his stuff, putting on his favorite, well worn duster and similar dark leather hat, and strides over to Dutch’s tent- thankfully he hadn’t left for the day.

The older man stood with his back to the post, a cup of dark coffee in his metal cup. He hasn’t yet put on his hat, so John could see the gray slowly starting to coming through his black hair, which was slicked back with pomade into its usual style. He was already dressed sharp, John figured that’s where Arthur got his talent for dressing nice, and keeping his hair and face groomed. He’d been around Dutch so long, his habits had to of rubbed off a bit- though he was sure Arthur would positively deny trying to keep up his appearance. None of that was something John ever had a taste for, unfortunately. 

“Good morning, son!” Dutch calls as John approaches, raising his cup to him. “Fine day we’ve got here.” 

John nods back, tilting his hat slightly towards him. “Morning, Dutch. We, uh, definitely have a nice place here.”

“Arthur and Charles did a good job with this place, that’s for sure.”

“Speaking of…” John said tentatively. Dutch perked up, at that. His dark eyes narrowing in a calculated way, way beyond John’s understanding. John clears his throat with a cough before continuing, “Arthur. He’s- he’s not back yet, Dutch.”

Dutch nods, closing his eyes. He takes another swig of coffee, setting it down on a stool behind him, near Molly, who he can now see is sitting on the inside of the tent. “Yes, yes, I can understand your concern- I understand completely, son. We have to consider all the facts, all of them. I mean, you know Arthur. Boy needs his personal space more than most of us!” 

Dutch was right, of course he was right. He always was. 

Dutch must have sensed some sort of unconvinced look on John’s face (he was never good at hiding his emotions, he’s been told to not wear his heart on his sleeve so many times he’s lost count), because he grabbed a shoulder and squeezed. 

“Arthur Morgan is fine, John. If he isn’t back by tomorrow morning, then we’ll go looking for him, fair?”

John nods, “fair.” Dutch gives him a gentle shake before letting him go. 

John walks away, heading to the campfire to grab his own cup of coffee. He stand for a moment or two, unsure of what to do. He’s still worried- he can’t help it, that’s who John is. So he does what he’s used it, grabs his horse, saddles up and takes her on a ride. He grabs his fishing rod too, just in case he wants to go fishing, but he mostly just wants to ride to clear his head. 

Fishing was too much standing around for him, he’d hunt but he was absolutely terrible at it. So he’d leave that to Arthur and Charles. 

He rides for a while, probably a few hours before he stops, giving himself and his horse a break. Walking over to the stream they happened to stop by, John drops to one knee with a grunt, scooping up the clear liquid and scrubbing his face free from the south western dirt that he was no doubt caked in. 

They sat there, for a bit. John clearing his thoughts, feeding his horse a couple of apples he picked up in town a few day prior, indulging in one himself.

John stand up, stretching the kinks out of his back and shaking out his legs, it was gonna be a decent ride back, and John was a bit anxious to see if a certain someone would appear in camp during his absence. 

Behind him, down the trail a bit, John heard a horse whiny. He stops, busies himself with brushing his horse so they could pass. He didn’t like letting strangers have free access of his back. 

He hears the horse again, closer. Glancing up, he sees a familiar black Arabian trotting his way. John can’t seem to move, his eyes searching. His breath is caught in his throat when he sees a figure slumped over on its back. 

John rushes forward, making sure to keep himself steady in front of the horse, last thing he wanted was to spook her and send her running. 

“It’s okay, girl. It’s me, John. You remember me, yeah?” John whispers to her, but she is remarkably stubborn, just like her owner. She’s looking at him distrustfully, trotting a bit unpredictably. 

John remembers the apple he was snacking on, thankful he was saving it for the long ride back. Pulling it out of his satchel, he offers it to her. Slowly inching forward. 

She takes it, finally calm and distracted enough for John to walk over to the side, to Arthur.

John curses at the sight. 

Arthur is practically black and blue he’s so bruised. There’s drying blood over half his face, from the looks of it, his nose is broken. John’s stomach churns at Arthur’s shoulder, a bullet wound. Huge and red and angry, looks like Arthur was able to cauterize it, a bit. But it was still oozing. Had to have been a few days old. John can see blood through his stained clothes, but he can’t tell what the injuries are. 

“Arthur-!” John calls, running a hand over his cheek delicately. Arthur shifts a bit, but doesn’t regain consciousness. John curses again, there’s no way he could help him. He knows nothing about healing or medicine, that was always Abigail’s strength, not his. For the first time in a long time, he wished she was with him. But she wasn’t. She was back at camp, and that’s where John needed to go. 

John hoists himself up onto Arthur’s horse, although Arthur was a big man, John was fairly small and trim. He was able to fit behind Arthur, who was still slumped over the neck of his black Arabian. 

“Ya!” John commanded of the horse, she whinnied, but didn’t protest. John whistles for his own horse to follow suit. He did as told, galloping a respectful distance behind them. John made sure to ride fast - fast enough to get them home quick, but with enough control that Arthur didn’t end up slipping off the side. At this pace, they’d be able to make it back within an hour. John hoped that’d be enough. 

There’s a groan from Arthur, his soft blue eyes fluttering open. His eyes are clouded over with what John assumes is a mixture of pain and confusion. 

John releases a hand from the reins, instead sliding it up and down Arthur’s back, cautious of any unseen wounds. “How ya doin’, Arthur?”

“John?” It’s as soft as a whisper. Arthur’s eyes are still mostly out of focus, but he twisted himself just enough to glance back at him. 

John smiles, relieved. Of he’s talking it can’t be that bad. “Yeah, it’s me.” 

“It’s.. it’s a- a trap.” He manages to wheeze out, his eyes scrunching in pain

“What’d you mean?” 

“C… Colm, he… he’s tryin’ to get Dutch- it’s… it’s a…” and he’s out again, slumping forward. 

John kicks the horse harder, begging her to pick up the pace. He’s thankful she got the message, galloping so hard she was grunting. Arthur always said she was special, John thought. 

“C’mon girl, let’s get Arthur home…” he whispered, patting the horses neck. “It’s gonna be be okay, Arthur, it’s gonna be okay…”

—

They made good time, Arthur coming in and out of consciousness a few times. But John made sure he was still breathing. 

The horse barreled through the small forest path, John ignores Bill who’s on guard duty, not bothering to answer him when he asks who it is. 

“Whoa!” He pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a stop a few feet away from camp. He quickly threw his leg over, sliding off the horse. “I need some help!” He yelled, Charles was next to him in an instant, helping pull Arthur off of the saddle. 

Around him, he heard people asking what happened, but he ignored them, calling for Abigail and Ms. Grimshaw instead. 

“We need to use your tent, Mr. Marston. There’s more space-“ John nodded, obviously not caring about his tent being used as a makeshift infirmary. John and Charles carried him to the tent, as quickly and as gently as they could.

“John! What happened!” It was a demand not a question. Dutch is looking over Arthur, his eyes frantic and panicked, Hosea’s at his side, with a similar concerned look lining his features. 

They reach his cot and heave him up, he’s groaning now, someone hands a bottle of whiskey to John, John accepts, gently holding onto the back of Arthur’s bruised head and lifting him up slightly so the liquor would go down easier. Arthur sighs a little softer, his eyebrows almost knitted together. Ms. Grimshaw and Abigail shoo them out, shutting the tents opening behind them. 

“John-?”

“I just - found him. I was riding up near Valentine, just for some air and I spot his horse- brought him back here.” 

Dutch looks at him for a moment before clapping a hand down on his shoulder, “You did good, son. Real good.”

“There’s something else; Arthur, when he was awake he said ‘it’s a trap’ and then he mentioned Colm.” 

Dutch’s face screws itself into rage, “I knew that rat bastard had to be behind all this! He is going to pay John.” And Dutch is walking away, asking John to let him know how things go. 

“Thank you, John. Truly.” Hosea says, a genuine smile and a nod, before following Dutch. 

“Well, must be a nice change of pace, huh, Johnny boy?” John snarls at the sound of Micah’s sleazy voice. He whips around at the blond. “Nice not having to be the damsel for once?” 

“This is all your damn fault!” He’s up in Micah’s face, John’s a good few inches taller, he makes sure to stare him down.

“Easy, compadre. We’re all friends here.” Micah said with a shrug, that gross smile on his disgusting face.

“You fucked up, Micah! Arthur could’ve died!” John yells, Micah’s backing away, the smile gone from his face. Instead he’s sneering,

“How was I supposed to know that that dumb fool was going to let himself be kidnapped!” John’s seeing red, he takes a step forward but a hand holds him back,

“He’s not worth it, you know that.” Charles says. 

John brushes him of, but doesn’t make any attempt to charge Micah. 

“Besides- I wasn’t the only one to come up with that plan!” Gesturing to Pearson who stood a few feet away, wringing his hands. He flinched as the attention turns to him, 

“I- I- sorry, Marston- I never meant to cause any harm to Arthur, I swear it.” 

John looks away, glaring back at Micah. “Pearson is Pearson, you should’a known better.” John turns, not willing to waste another breath on that fool, but Micah always needed the last word. 

“Give me a fuckin’ break, Marston. He’ll be better before you know it, and you’ll be back sucking his dick in no ti-“ John’s on him before he finishes, fists connecting with his jaw again and again and again- 

He’s being pulled off, he’s panting. “Easy, John- think he’s learned his lesson.” Javier says with a laugh in his voice. 

Micah’s propped up on the ground by his arm, spitting blood. John suddenly feels a lot better. He shakes off Javier, instead heading to the lakefront. He takes a seat and waits. 

—

“Hey…” Abigail’s voice startled him from whatever day dream he was having, he looks up. She looks tired, worn. But she has a smile on her face. “He’ll be okay.” 

John breathes out a sigh of relief, standing and following her into his tent. It’s dark now, it’s been about an hour since John arrived with Arthur. 

The sight causes John’s heart to clench. Arthur’s shirtless, which would usually be a source of excitement for John, but in this circumstance it caused him pain. 

He was cleaned up a bit, the girls managing to wipe away most of the grime and dried blood that was caked on him before. There’s a large bandage over his shoulder and damn it’s so close to his heart. His body is black and blue with bruises, his torso littered with small knife cuts. His lip cut and bruised and holy shit John wants to cry and at the same time find Colm O’driscoll and kill that son of a bitch-

“Ah, Mr. Marston.” She’s using her soft voice. “Just the man I wanted to see.” She beckons him closer. “Would you mind watching over him for the next few hours? Me and Abigail have some things to attend to, but we don’t want to leave him unattended. If you’re much too tired, it is no worry at all-“

“Of course I will.” John says immediately. 

Ms. Grimshaw nods with a matronly smile. “Perfect. If he wakes up, have him take these” she shakes a bottle of pills on the stand next to the cot. “Antibiotics for that nasty wound.” With that, the women turn to leave, 

“Thank you. Both of you.”

“Our pleasure.” Ms. Grimshaw says.

And he’s alone. 

John sighs, sitting on the ground next to the cot, his back against the side table so he’s parallel with the bed. With Arthur. He’s breathing steady, which in turn lets John breathe steady. 

“Just what did you get yourself into…” Arthur, despite his sourness and constant grumbling was such a yes man, John often despised it. He got himself into shitty situations because, as much as he loved the man, Dutch asked him to. It was going to put him into an early grave. 

He stroked the man's cheek, feeling the stubble under his finger tips. For all of this, he was glad Arthur was still here.

—

A few days later, John found himself in front of the lake again. He liked it there, it was peaceful.

“Please tell me you ain’t thinkin’ about swimming.” John looks up, startled a bit. Arthur’s walking towards him- well, it’s more of a lumbering hobble. “We all know how that turned out last time.” His face was still terribly bruised, but they were fading finally. His nose was now slightly crooked, but John thought it was a good look on him anyhow. 

“Arthur-!” He goes to stand up, just as Arthur is attempting to sit down, John helps him. “How you feelin’?” 

“Right as rain.” Arthur days with an easy grin, sitting beside John. They’re a good ways away from camp, so it’s quiet and private. 

John scoffs unbelieveingly. “Right, nothing like a good torture to make you feel better!” 

Arthur barks out a laugh, wincing immediately at the pain that followed. John reaches for him, but Arthur waves him away, ever the independent, much to John’s chagrin. Probably sick of the last few days, what with everyone practically babysitting him (John included). 

“I heard you beat Micah’s ass.” Arthur says fondly, John smiles. 

“Yeah well, he had it comin’” John would’ve killed him, if no one stopped him. He’s still angry at what that bastard said- 

“Hey, relax John.” Arthur threw his good arm around his back and rubbed circles. “Who gives a shit what that idiot thinks?” John leans into it.

“I know, I know. But still - I wish I killed him.” 

Arthur chuckles, “me too.” He clears his throat. “So, uh… thank you. For findin’ me, an’ all.” 

John feels a burst of affection for the man next to him, Arthur was so sure of himself all time, it always amused John about how bashful he could be. “Yeah well. You’re welcome.” 

Arthur’s smiling at him, his light blue eyes clear as the sky around them. It was a perfect moment. 

“I mean, who’s dick would I suck if you died-“ Arthur shoves him.

“You’re such a bastard John Marston.” His voice is fond and they’re laughing. 

John was glad he was here.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue how this ended up almost 4k words haha oops!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this one!


End file.
